Birthright
by 1917farmgirl
Summary: The bond between brothers is special.


**Author's Note:**

This story was written quite a while ago for a challenge on another site. Basically, the idea was to write a story where Ike and Buck really were brothers. This was my take on that.

I've cleaned up the formatting for this site, but resisted the urge to edit. As such, take this as a snapshot of my writing from a specific time.

**Birthright**

"What ya thinkin' about, Ike?"

The voice of his best friend breaks into Ike McSwain's thoughts and pulls him out of his revery. Not really wanting to talk, he merely shrugs.

"Come on, Ike," Buck prods, urging his horse closer to his friend's. "I know ya too well, I can tell when something's botherin' ya."

A little annoyed, Ike looks away, but he knows Buck's right. Something _is_ bothering him and who better to confide in than Buck, his brother, his friend, the one person who understands him in a world full of cold shoulders? Finally, he sighs and adjusts the reigns so one hand is free for conversation.

_It's been ten years, you know. Today._

Buck watches the signs carefully, realizing it's what's not said that's important. No wonder Ike is withdrawn and gloomy. Today is the ten year anniversary of his family's murders.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Buck asks softly, but Ike shakes his head 'no'. It's so hard for him to believe it was that long ago. Some days it still seems like just yesterday, and yet, as he looks around at the frozen ground and heavy clouds above, it seems like a lifetime has passed. For just a moment, he lets himself get lost in the memories. It was such a strange day to begin with, the exceptionally warm Indian summer air more suited to an August day and not the October morning it had been. He should have known something was coming; they all should have, but they didn't and his life has never been the same.

Sighing, Ike glances around at the bleak landscape, acknowledging the memories that are fighting to the surface of his mind. The barren land is lifeless and tired, as if waiting for the snows of winter to come and cover it's shabbiness. Suddenly, Ike turns back to his friend, hands moving again.

_It's just this run, this place. Going here. We're really close._

It takes Buck a moment to understand what Ike means by that comment, but then it hits him with a jolt.

"Why'd you volunteer to come with me when Teaspoon asked for another rider then? You knew where we were going."

For a long time, Ike doesn't answer. His emotions are all mixed up inside and he's not sure he understands them himself. He doesn't know why he volunteered for this particular ride. Lately, he's been beset with memories, images of events he hasn't allowed himself to think about for a long time, the pleasant as well as the horrific. For some strange reason, he felt the need to come on this run at this time. He can't explain it to himself, let alone Buck. Eventually, he just looks at his friend and signs, _I don't know. Just felt like I should come._

Recognizing Ike's not in the mood to talk, Buck allows the subject to drop and they ride in silence.

Several hours later, the tired friends find themselves entering a small town just as the first flakes of the long threatening snow begin to drift down. Without consulting his friend, Ike suddenly pulls his mount to a stop before they're fully in the town, a frown on his face as he looks around.

"What's wrong, Ike?" Buck questions, worried that some new ghost from his past has been stirred in Ike's mind, but Ike waves for him to be quiet.

Bigger than Sweetwater but not huge, the town seems weary and worn, as if even the buildings have seen too much, but that's not what makes Ike stop. It's just this strange feeling he has, and for some odd reason it seems to emanate from the town. Ordinary folks speed to and fro around perfectly normal shops, trying to finish their business before the storm really sets in, but somehow, there's something more. A chill runs up Ike's spine and he almost expects a cloudy mist to appear and encircle the wooden buildings in an otherworldly haze. This is not just an ordinary, tired, old town; this town has secrets - dark, brooding secrets that want to get out.

_Buck, do you...,_ Ike hesitates. He can feel something; he's not sure what, but he's amazed that Buck, usually the more sensitive of the two, can't feel it as well. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he plunges on. _Do you feel anything odd here?_

Not at all the question he was expecting, Buck takes a moment to reply. "No, why?" he finally says, eyeing his friend strangely.

_Oh, I don't know. Just feels funny._

With a worried frown, Buck studies the rider next to him. "Ike, you're tired from this ride and have a lot on your mind tonight. It's probably just making you edgy."

Ike knows the churning in his gut is more than just bad memories, but not wanting to appear foolish, he simply nods.

"Look, you need to get your mind off what you've been brooding over all day and we both need to get in out of this snow. How 'bout we take the horses to the stable and then I'll buy you a sarsaparilla at the saloon?" Buck offers, trying to penetrate Ike's somber mood.

Grateful for a friend who really does care how he feels, Ike manages a smile as he signs, _Sounds great._

00000

"What'll ya have?"

Buck is busy scowling at the sign posted above the bar declaring loudly "No Indians Served." He doesn't even hear the saloon girl or realize that she's waiting for an answer until Ike nudges him sharply in the side.

"Ow, stop it, Ike!" he states angrily, and turns to stomp out but Ike grabs his arm, indicating with his head the young woman waiting for an answer.

"What?" Buck asks irritably.

"I said, what'll ya have?" she repeats, leaning her elbows up on the bar and wearing an amused look.

"But the sign says...," Buck sputters, wondering how she's failed to notice he's an Indian.

"Well, if ya really want me to, I could go get George over there," she points to a figure slumped in peaceful drunkenness at a table in the corner, the only other costumer in the room, "an' have him come throw you two out, but it looks to me like he don't want ta be disturbed. As long as yer here, ya might as well stay. 'Sides, that sign's mainly up there fer show. Had a little Indian trouble around here lately . . . guy went and got hisself killed by a few of 'em. But ta tell ya the truth, most people 'round here really jist wish the Indians would've got to him sooner." The girl shrugs nonchalantly and turns back to the two friends. "So, what'll ya have?"

Surprised at this unusual turn of events, Buck leans back on the bar and orders sarsaparillas for both Ike and him. The girl raises an eyebrow at the mild order, but fills it just the same.

Still unable to shake the feeling of apprehension he's had since they entered the town, Ike only half listens to Buck and the girl's conversation as he sips his drink and looks around. Even without paying attention, he manages to learn that the brown-haired, hazel-eyed beauty is nineteen, single, fond of horses and cats, . . .and likes to talk. For once almost glad he can't speak, Ike abandons Buck to manage on his own, letting his own thoughts wander. Never before has he seen a saloon this void of life on a Friday night. The piano sits still and covered, the tables are empty, and not even a sequine or satin ribbon hints that a show girl has ever set her silk-stocking-fitted foot inside the doors! It's just too weird, and it gives him the creeps. Finally, he can stand it no longer and breaks in on the conversation, cutting into the middle of a very captivating story of the girl's Uncle Wallace, the pearl diver.

_Is it always this quiet here?_

A little startled at his mode of communication, it takes a moment for the girl to reply after Buck translates. With a smile, Ike wonders if it's the first time she's ever been knocked off course in a conversation.

"This quiet? Nah, usually it's a mess in here, people all over, music an' girls... It's just this storm that's brewing. 'Round here they move in faster than ya can blink, an' they ain't something ya wanna get stuck away from home in. Mr. Lee, he's the boss, sent all the girls back to the boarding house an' no one else has come in but you two. So it's just me, Mad Molly, an' George there, who ain't really here anyway."

Ike has to give the girl credit. Despite her surprise, once she's recovered, she speaks directly to him, instead of pretending he's not there. He gets so sick of people asking Buck "could you tell him . . ." as if he can't hear as well. True, this girl doesn't seem to mind talking to anyone or anything who'll listen, but it's still a nice feeling.

"Who's Mad Molly?" Buck asks curiously.

"She's our cook," the girl continues. With a hasty glance at the faint glow creeping through a half-opened door in the back, she leans in close to the boys and lowers her voice to a whisper. "She's not quite all there, if ya know what I mean. A few cards short of a deck. Some days she acts perfectly normal, but others . . . She's worked here for ages, at least twenty years or so, long before I came. The saloon was owned by a different guy back then, an' Molly was one of the _entertainin' girls_. Guess she fell really hard for this drifter who was always passing through, an' he seemed to favor her company too. Anyway, Molly ended up in a family way. She hid it for ages, don't know how she managed, but the kid was more'n a year old 'for her boss found out. He was roarin' mad, yelled that she was his by contract and couldn't do her job with a kid. Made her give the baby away, and Molly ain't been all right in the head ever since. Is still convinced her baby's comin' home someday, and the daddy, too. Has this old house outside a town somewhere that she stays at. No one really knows where it is, but she says she's waiting for 'em to come back. When Mr. Lee bought the saloon from the old owner, he let Molly stay on as cook, mostly outa pity for her. An' I must say, I feel sorry for her myself. Musta been awful . . ." The girl's voice trails off as the back door opens suddenly. Quickly, she grabs a rag and starts wiping down the hardwood bar.

If the woman who emerges from the kitchen heard the conversation, she doesn't show it. Carrying a tray, she moves silently from table to table, gathering dirty mugs and wiping up the dewy trails they leave behind. Near the age of forty, she still possess a strange beauty, with dark curls escaping from her sloppily-put up hair and delicate features on a face devoid of emotion. It's her eyes that are the most startling, however. Vivid green, they should be piercing, but somehow they remain distant, as if gazing on the past, not the here-and-now.

"See what I mean?" their new friend's hushed voice pulls the riders' attention away from "Mad" Molly. "Sometimes I wonder if she even knows we're here . . ."

Her words and the strange woman's presence cause the eerie feeling to resurface in Ike's chest. Once again, a chill runs up his spine and he's grateful that Buck changes the topic.

"Well considering this storm, we'd probably better go find a place for the night," he says, glancing out the window at the heavy snow falling. "Is there a hotel in town?"

"Yer absolutely right, ya'd better get in now while ya have the chance. Hotel's just down the street on the right, ya can't miss it."

"Thanks . . .er . . .Miss . . ." Buck pauses, not having a name to complete the phrase with, and the girl slaps her head, rolling her eyes.

"I done fergot ta tell ya my name, an' us sittin' here chattin' for an hour, too! Sometimes I'm so scatterbrained, I'd forget my own head if it weren't hooked right on. Well, anyways, it's Sophie, Sophie Patterson. An' you are?"

Scatterbrained and a chatterbox she may be, but she's also one of the few people the two boys have ever met who accepts them up front, no questions asked. With a smile, Buck answers for both of them. "I'm Buck Cross, and this is Ike McSwain. We're riders for the . . ."

The harsh sound of shattering glass makes all three of them whirl around before Buck can finish his sentence. Molly stands as if frozen, the ruined shards of several mugs and bottles littering the floor at her feet, her haunted green eyes fixed in shock on the riders; no, on Ike.

"Oh, Molly! Look what you've done! Ain't I told ya ta be careful?" Sophie hurries around the bar to help clean up, not even noticing the strange look growing on the woman's face, but Ike sees it. Those eyes, they seem so familiar, as though he's gazed at them a thousand times. He can feel them searching his heart, his very soul. He has the unnerving impression she can see everything and it scares him to death, but he can't seem to pull away. Only when Buck touches his arm does he break the connection.

"Come on Ike, we'd better get to the hotel."

Not exactly sure what just happened, Ike simply nods and follows his friend out the door and back into the snow.

Buoyed by the friendly reception of Sophie at the saloon, Buck's hopes are up for a similar welcome at the hotel and the prospect of a soft, warm bed for the night. The weird incident with Molly fades from his mind the moment the saloon doors swing shut behind him, and he even shoves his worry for Ike to the back of his thoughts. It's not that he isn't still concerned about his friend, it's just that it's not very often a town chooses to look past his skin color, and he's enjoying it. Ike, on the other hand, is sinking deeper and deeper into his thoughts. Images from the past keep surfacing, swirling round and round in his mind like the flakes of snow dancing before his eyes, but now laced with the sight of unnerving green eyes. What on earth is happening to him? Why does a town from his past and a woman from an empty saloon have him so jumpy and nervous? Weariness, like a stifling dark blanket, settles on him without warning, and yet he shivers as the snow thickens around him, muffling even Buck's footsteps right beside him. He's so absorbed in his own thoughts, they are at the doors of the hotel before he realizes he left his hat at the saloon.

"How could you not notice with all this snow dumping on yer head?" Buck asks incredulously when Ike mentions it.

_Just preoccupied I guess,_ Ike replies but hurries on when he sees the frown darken his friend's face. _Look, you go in and get us some rooms and I'll run get my hat._

"But Ike . . ."

_Just go!_ Ike practically shoves Buck toward the doors, rolling his eyes at his usual protectiveness.

"Alright, but if ya ain't back in twenty minutes, I'm gonna come lookin' for ya - with a shovel."

Shaking his head, Ike quickly back-tracks to the saloon. The snow is several inches deep already and though it's not exactly a blizzard yet, he's still anxious to get in out of it. His feet are so wet he wonders why he bothers to wear his old boots anyway, not to mention the fact that his bandana is soaked through. Reaching the ancient building, he hurries through the door. The room is now completely empty, unless you count George still slumped peacefully before his table. Not wanting to get pulled into another conversation at the moment, he quickly grabs his hat from where he left it on the bar and turns to slip back out the door.

"Isaac."

Ike nearly jumps out of his skin as a soft voice speaks right next to him, calling him by his given name, a name he hasn't been addressed by in ten years.

"Isaac."

Wide-eyed with amazement and more than a little fright, Ike stares as "Mad Molly" materializes from the shadows next to the door.

"Isaac, child, I knew you would come," she says, the dim light of the deserted room making her eyes glow.

Ike doesn't have a clue what this woman is talking about, or how she knows his name, but he does know every instinct he possesses is telling him to get out. Slowly, he starts to back toward the doors.

"Wait, don't be frightened. I would never hurt you! Please don't go!"

His mind whirling with confusion, Ike stares at the woman. He stops moving for the door, not because she asked, but because his feet seem to have frozen to the floor.

"I've waited so long . . . I never gave up hope . . . I knew my baby would come back . . . knew you would keep the promise." The words are soft and full of pleading. As she speaks, she draws closer and closer to Ike who stands rooted in place. When she is right in front of him, she hesitantly reaches out and brushes his check with her fingertips. "A son should always keep his promises to his mother."

_Mother!_ The word rings through Ike's mind like a warning and shatters the strange spell her words cast over him. This woman is crazy! Truly insane! There is no way on earth he is her son. He recoils in alarm from her touch and starts to dash out the door.

"Your mother is named Lucy. Your father Clark."

Ike stops dead in his tracks.

"You were born in the spring of '43. They named you Isaac Clark McSwain."

He is truly scared now. This woman must be either a witch or a ghost to know these things! Not even Buck knows his full name.

"How do I know these things, you wonder?" Molly reads his mind, her voice shaking slightly as she fidgets nervously with the edge of her skirt. "I can show you. I have proof, things to show you . . ."

Every reasonable and rational bone in Ike's body is telling him to bolt, leave this woman to her delusions and forget her, but somehow he still finds himself turning around to listen.

"You must come to my house," Mad Molly continues quickly, her words rushing out now. "You must come to our house and I will show you. At midnight, we will go."

Meet this woman at midnight to follow her through a blizzard to some mythical house? With a look of utter disbelief written across his face, Ike motions toward the heavy snow falling outside before he can stop himself.

"Don't worry, I can always find the way."

Now is the part when he shakes his head violently 'no' and rushes back to the warm hotel, Ike tells himself, but he can't seem to make the motion happen. He knows it's an idiotic plan and he'd be an idiot himself to believe this woman and follow her off into the unknown on a night like this, but how does she know what she does?! With a crushing realization, Ike understands that no matter how hard he would try to forget, he will now never be able to put his mind and past to rest again until he solves this mystery, and so instead of the logical 'no' Ike finds himself nodding in agreement. Then, seeing what he's done, he runs from the room back out into the snow.

00000

_Fool!_

Frozen feet trudge a few more steps down a nonexistent path.

_Idiot!_

Bitter wind whips the snow up in harsh swirls around the two lonely figures. The taller one pulls his too-thin coat closer about his shoulders and tucks his head down against the storm, straining to see the woman in front of him.

_You really are a dummy, Ike McSwain_, he berates himself again, the stream of silent curses surpassing anything a cruel or angry crowd has ever hurled his way. He's still not exactly sure what possessed him to actually meet this strange woman at midnight, but he did it. He crept out of the warm hotel without even leaving a note for Buck and set off on foot to follow Mad Molly to her house. But now after an hour of sloshing through snow with an almost full-fledged blizzard raging around him, he's convinced Molly's not the only "mad" one around. Surely he must have left his own good judgment and sense back in the bunkhouse at Sweetwater.

With a weary sigh, Ike walks on, having nothing better to do. There's no way he could find his way back to the town now. About ten minutes ago they entered a small wooded area and every direction Ike looks it all appears the same. At least the woman seems to know where she's going, but then she also claims to be his mother, so he's not really going to put much stock in anything she says or does.

Just when Ike's beginning to mentally picture Buck's reaction to finding his frozen body huddled under a tree, the woods abruptly end and the ground slopes sharply downward. He hurries after Molly, afraid to lose sight of her in the spinning mass of white. He doesn't notice the tiny, run-down cabin until he almost walks smack into the side of it. Molly heaves the door open against the wind and they both push their way inside. As the gale slams the door shut behind him, Ike is met by a wall of pitch black almost as cold as the night air they just escaped, laced with the putrid scents of mold and decay. Cringing from the smell, he stands shivering as he listens to Mad Molly fumbling for a match, muttering to herself. He has to steal himself from turning around and bolting back out the door before she can find a light. With gritted teeth, he watches a match spark to life and in the next instance a lamp is glowing, but not brightly. Somehow, even the small lamplight seems cold and distant. Trying to stay warm and sane at the same time, Ike looks around. Hidden behind dust, junk, and a layer of grime, the complements of a kitchen lean wearily on each other for support, the most tell-tale sign of the room's purpose being the rusty stove in the corner. In the back, patches of wall darker than the surrounding gloom whisper of two smaller rooms behind.

A clatter brings Ike's attention to the corner where Molly stands on a chair rummaging in some old cans.

"Where can it be? Know I put it here . . . must keep it safe . . . must hide everything . . . they are out there, just waiting to rob me . . ." she mutters, shoving cans this way and that. Finally, she gets down, a piece of worn paper clutched in her hand. Slowly, she approaches Ike.

"The man and woman, they seemed so nice, said they wanted a baby so bad." Molly's words rush out in fragments, as though she's simply stating her memories out-loud, and her eyes stare straight through Ike to someplace far away. "He said I couldn't keep you, and you were so small and always so hungry. They said 'let him come live with us, he will be safe, he will be our son' . . . but I didn't want you to be their son and so the woman said she would tell you when you were older and bring you to see me. I waited, but you never came . . ." Her words die off and she looks down in pain, but after a moment she seems to remember Ike and speaks again.

"But you did remember. You are here now."

With trembling fingers, she extends the paper to Ike, who takes it reluctantly, as though it might burn him. Oh how he wants to leave right now! This woman with the bewitching eyes is speaking lies! Impossible, crazy things that can't be true! And yet, even more frightening is the needling thought that they might be! With more apprehension than he's ever felt before in his life, Ike smoothed out the paper and glances down at it.

_ Dear Miss Molly,_

His world starts spinning around him as he recognizes his mother's tiny script. A desire to crumple the paper and hurl it at the wall washes over him, but his eyes remain glued to his mother's words and he reads on.

_You have given us a gift beyond measure and I thank you with all my heart. I know how much it cost you to give him up, but I assure you we will always love and cherish him. We shall name him Isaac Clark McSwain as he already knows Isaac is his name, but we are calling him Ike. As promised, we will tell him of you on his twelfth birthday and allow him to meet you if he desires. Thank you again from the bottom of our hearts for the gift of our son. May God bless you!_

_ Lucy B. McSwain_

With one last spin, Ike's world crumbles down into ruins and lays smoking at his feet. Everything he knew, every memory he has, every image suddenly shatters. Even his own identity lies in the dust, leaving him unsure if he even knows who he is! His loving mother and father are not really his. They are his sister's but not his. He is the son of a saloon girl and a drifting cad! His whole life has been a lie! Not only is he a dummy and a freak, he's also a baby who was pawned away on others before he was even two years old!

He stares at the paper, reading the words over and over, his heart still crying that it's not true, but his mind knowing it is. There's his name, his mother's signature, and suddenly the last piece of the puzzle clicks into place. Molly's vivid green eyes that seem so familiar, now he knows where he's seen them before. Every morning of his life he's seen those same eyes staring back at him in the mirror, a tamer green perhaps, but still the same.

Totally wrapped up in his turbulent thoughts, Ike never notices Molly moving up behind him until her hand snakes around and a damp cloth is shoved over his mouth and nose. Too surprised to react quick enough, his last thought is to wonder why it smells so funny and makes him feel light-headed. Then, just as he realizes he's in big trouble, the blackness envelopes his mind and he slumps to the floor in an unconscious heap.

00000

"Come on, Ike, open up!" Buck pounds on the locked door. "Just 'cause we're snowed in doesn't mean you get to sleep all day!"

Buck waits for the sleepy face of his friend to appear as the door opens, but it doesn't happen.

"Ike!" Buck whines again, "Open up already! Let's go get some breakfast!"

Silence.

"Oh come on, Ike! I let ya sleep through that whole blizzard, but it's noon now and the wind's stopped an' I'm hungry!"

When he still gets no answer, Buck pulls grumpily on the latch of the door. To his surprise, it swings open slightly. A wicked grin spreads across Buck's features, he'll teach Ike to sleep in - With the stealth of a hunter, he pushes the door open, ready to creep up on his sleeping friend, but he stops short. There is no sleeping friend to attack! All his things are still there, but no Ike. The bed hasn't even been slept in!

In an instant, alarm floods through Buck and he dashes downstairs to the lobby and restaurant. Looking frantically around, hoping for a glimpse of red bandana or laughing hands, Buck sees only a few stranded customers in the empty room. Outside the windows, snow still falls heavily, but it lacks the frigid winds that howled most of the night. The slight calming of the storm is now little comfort to Buck, though, as one thought sears across his mind: Ike's out there in that mess somewhere! A fear like none he's ever known before seizes him. Cursing Ike's stubbornness, cursing the demons of his friend's past for driving him to desperate acts, and cursing himself for brushing off Ike's worries so quickly, Buck pulls his coat around him and heads out into the flurry to find Ike.

00000

A biting wisp of breeze blows steadily across the back of his neck, causing the flesh to prickle and tugging at his senses. With a few bewildered blinks, Ike finally opens his eyes, but a fog still seems to be clouding his thoughts. Without moving, he glances around, confused. He's obviously lying on the floor, but on a very lumpy, rather musty, mattress and someone has covered him up to his chin with a frayed and patched quilt. It's not until Ike tries to shift his position for a better view of the room that he realizes his hands are bound behind him with what feels like strips of old cloth. Alarm and panic rush through his body, clearing the remaining mists from his memory in one awful sweep.

Ike struggles to a sitting position, noticing as he does that not only are his hands tied, but his left leg is attached with some sort of leather strap to a loop in an old, rusty bed frame that takes up most of the small space. The quilt falls off his shoulders as he rises and Ike can't help shivering in the chilly air. He must be in one of the back rooms he noticed from the kitchen.

_Oh, knowing exactly where you're tied up's really gonna help,_ the cynical thought slips across his mind as despair sinks into his soul. Fighting against the tide of hopelessness and unanswerable questions, he desperately scans the room, looking for any chance of escape, even though he doesn't have a clue why he's even a prisoner. The furnishings might be shabby and broken and the chinking in the walls crumbling, leaving large holes for the wind to howl freely through, but the logs themselves are as sturdy as the day they were felled by some woodman's ax. There's not even a window to offer a glimmer of hope.

With a silent cry of hurt and betrayal, Ike jerks at his bindings; bindings that steal his freedom and words in one bitter blow. After a few moments of reckless rage, he slowly stops. The cloths are tied too tightly and are too strong for him to break; and without his hands, it's impossible to undo the leather strap. Defeated, he sinks back on the make-shift bed, his heart heavy inside his chest and his mind swirling again. _Why, why, why?_ Why is this happening to him? And why was he so stupid? He should have listened to his instincts that were telling him to run; run far away! But he just had to know, had to find out, and look where it's gotten him? Trapped in a decaying cabin in a roaring blizzard for heaven only knows the reason, and not a soul on earth even knows where he's at. The contents of his stomach twist and swirl, and he suspects whatever Molly used to drug him isn't done working it's magic yet, aided by his churning emotions. Trembling with cold, he draws his knees up to his chest and curls into a miserable ball, listening to the raging, blizzard winds whistle their fiendish lullabies through the gapping cracks in the walls. Closing his eyes against the tears trying to fight their way out, he slips off to a sickly sleep, dreaming of a long ago time when loving arms were waiting to hold him and rock his fears away.

00000

"Blast it, Ike! Of all the stupid, idiotic times to run off, you had to pick last night!"

Trudging through the knee-deep snow, Buck's worry boils over in frustration as he moves down the deserted street, but it's not really Ike he's mad at, but rather himself. How could he have been so self-absorbed? Why did he brush Ike's worries off so quickly? And underneath these questions lies the one that hurts the most, why didn't Ike confide in him?

Ahead, Buck spies a light glimmering through the thinning snow and speeds up. Closer inspection of the building reveals black letters spelling out boldly "Sheriff's Office" across the boards just under the eaves.

"Guess this is as good a place to start as any," Buck mutters to himself. The door is open just a crack, letting a sliver of light spill out into the snowy street. He reaches to push it open, but a young voice floats out at that moment and the words freeze him in place.

"But, Pop, this Indian, Red Bear, he killed him, didn't he? He killed Charlie?"

_Red Bear?_ At the sound of his half-brother's name, Buck's insides twist up tighter than they already were. Fearful that now his brother as well as his best friend is in trouble, he leans closer, hoping to catch more information.

"Yeah, Joey, I already tol' ya he did," an older voice answers.

"Well, if he killed him, why ain't ya gonna hang up this wanted add? He's guilty, ain't he, Pop?"

"Look, Joey, I ain't gonna hang it up an' that's it. Now git on home an' tell yer Ma I'll be home in time for supper. Looks like this blizzard's finally blown itself out."

"But, Pop," the first voice persists and Buck judges the boy to be about twelve years old. "If he killed him, why ain't ya gonna hang up that poster?"

A weary sigh reaches Buck's ears before the older man speaks again. "Joey, not everything in this world is black and white, wrong or right. Ol' Charming Charlie may have had a winning smile, but he probably single-handedly caused more pain and suffering in this territory than twenty other men, for the Indians as well as white folks. Some men ain't worth the dirt they're buried in, and he was one of them. I ain't saying it was right ta kill him, but at least he can't hurt no one no more, Joey. An' I ain't gonna hang up a poster that'll give every trigger-happy Indian-hater for a hundred miles the excuse to start shootin' every Indian they see, not when this Red Bear was probably doling out some justice of his own."

With a wisdom that reminds Buck strongly of Teaspoon, the father continues trying to help his son understand, but Buck doesn't stay to hear the rest of the conversation. His mind reeling with this new information, he walks across the street and leans against a building, trying to digest it all. A small voice in his head tries to suggest that they could have been talking about another Indian named Red Bear, but he doubts it. For some reason, his brother risked everything to hunt down and kill a single white man by the name of Charming Charlie, but why? What could the man have possibly done to cause his very cautious brother to take such a chance?

With the nagging feeling that he's somehow missing the obvious, Buck massages his throbbing temples, wishing heartily that he'd never gotten out of bed. His brother has just been accused of murdering a white man, and his best friend is lost and possibly freezing to death somewhere in this white mess. None of it makes sense! What is he supposed to do? He needs information and help, and he doesn't know a soul in this town to go to or where to start!

Suddenly, a spark of hope shoots across his frantic mind. That isn't entirely true, he does know one person in this town. And what is the best way to get information in a small place like this? Go to the person who makes it their personal business to know everyone else's and dispense it to the multitudes. With a determined stride, Buck heads straight for the saloon.

00000

Entering the saloon, Buck is thankful to see it's still relatively empty. He walks straight to the counter just as Sophie is rising from behind it, "Hey, Sophie, can I talk to ya for a minute?"

"AHHHH!" she shrieks in surprise, throwing her arm-load of towels into the air and clutching at her heart. Startled, Buck stops short as recognition spreads across Sophie's face.

"Don't _do_ that to people! Good way ta kill a body, sneakin' up on 'em like that!"

Buck opens his mouth to say he didn't exactly sneak up, but she continues right on.

"Yeah, of course ya can talk ta me, what do ya need to know?"

"You ever heard of a man called Charming Charlie?"

"What do you think I am, daft? Of course I've heard of him, every person with half an ear in this territory's heard of him. Biggest scoundrel on this side of the Mississippi."

Buck had prepared himself to carefully wheedle out the information he needed without looking suspicious, but he instantly realizes he needn't have bothered. Her face glowing with the excitement of repeating a good, juicy story to an attentive audience, Sophie leans her elbows on the counter once more and takes off.

"I grew up in this here town, an' there hasn't been a day since I was old enough ta listen that gossip hasn't been flying round about Ol' Charmin' Charlie. Now mind you, I'm not normally one to repeat such things, but Ned down at the livery stable says Charlie got himself in a heap a trouble with the Indians a long time back, the Kiowa I think it was. Used ta trade with 'em now an' then about twenty years ago, but what I haven't a got a clue.

"Anyway, one day several years later, he came back ta town in a real rush, gathered up his stuff, and took off. Ned says the Indians were after Charlie 'cause he raped the Chief's wife, and knowin' Charlie, I wouldn't doubt it. After that, he never really stuck around in one place very long, but every once in a while, he'd drift back through town, an' everywhere he went had a story or two ta tell about him. He had a smile that could charm a rattlesnake, and more than one woman fell for it, but he always left 'em all. Guess those Indians finally caught up to him in the end though, an' I can't really say I'm sorry."

"Ya know," Sophie continues without a pause, "it's strange ya should be asking about Charlie today, when I was just tellin' ya about Mad Molly yesterday. It was Charlie what got Molly in a bind as well, only difference is Molly really loved him. Convinced herself he loved her too, poor thing, but Charlie never really cared for anyone but himself. If he woulda married her, she coulda kept her baby, though. Mighta made all the difference . . ."

As Buck listens to Sophie's monologue, certain words stand out like scarlet flags: _Red Bear, trader, Kiowa, raped the Chief's wife . . ._ With a jolt, the pieces fall into place and he has to grab the counter to keep from swaying on his feet. This man, this drifter called Charming Charlie, he was his father! He raped his mother, and Red Bear finally tracked him down so that justice could be served! It's the only explanation, as crazy as it may sound. It all fits, it all makes sense, but that doesn't stop his mind from spinning with unanswerable questions that for a moment, completely push thoughts of Ike from his mind.

_His father_! _This man was his father!_ Still in shock, Buck leans heavily on the bar and closes his eyes, trying to understand. All his life, he's wondered about his father: what he looked like, what his name was, where he might be, and yet all his life he's known absolutely nothing about the man who fathered him. Until now. In five minutes worth of conversation and without even meaning too, Sophie has just handed him his heritage in one go. His father has just been thrust into his life whether he wanted it or not. The man might be dead, but that doesn't stop him from rocking Buck's carefully constructed world to the core.

"Funny," Sophie suddenly adds, breaking into Buck's thoughts "Molly seemed pretty interested in yer friend yesterday, and that's weird. Usually, she pays more attention to the mice than the costumers around here, but something about yer friend caught her eye. Hey, where is he anyway?"

It's like a bolt of lightning crashes through Buck's mind, illuminating everything and jerking his thoughts back to his friend. Ike! Molly! Molly had a son she gave away - Molly was interested in Ike - Ike's missing! Molly must think Ike is her long lost son! It's an impossible idea, but it at least gives him a place to start.

"Sophie, where's Molly?" Buck asks breathlessly, shoving thoughts of his new father to the side as he mentally kicks himself for wasting valuable time.

"Dunno, she didn't come in today. She's probably snowed in."

He doesn't understand completely how he knows it, but Buck is suddenly dead sure that if he finds Mad Molly, he will find Ike, too. Somehow, Molly must have talked with Ike last night and filled his head full of impossible fantasies, taking advantage of his already distracted mood. And Ike, in his normal, keep-everything-to-himself kind of way, felt he needed to know more and followed her off who-knows-where without telling him anything! _Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do Ike!_ Buck screams inside his head, wondering how he's ever gonna find him now.

"Sophie, do you know where Molly lives?"

"Um..."

"Come on, think! You must know, at least have an idea!" Buck can't help the note of desperation that creeps into his voice.

"Well, I ain't never been there, an' I ain't never heard of anyone who has, 'cept probably ol' Charlie, and he's dead now anyway," she starts and it's all Buck can do to stop himself from grabbing the girl's shoulders and shaking her to make her get to the point, "but the rumor is she lives out in an abandoned miner's cabin somewhere north a town. There's loads of those old places around up there, and she certain does head out that way when she leaves at night . . . Why do ya need ta know where she lives?" Sophie finishes with a perplexed look, but all the answer she gets is Buck's back as he dashes out the door.

00000

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird . . . Hush, little baby don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird . . ."

The distant, ghostly voice conflicts with the one he's hearing in his dreams and jars Ike awake. Stiff, cold, and still feeling slightly ill, his arms and shoulders aching, he opens his eyes slowing, afraid of what he'll see. Once again, the ancient quilt has been tucked snugly around his body, an act that clashes boldly with the strips bound about his hands and ankle.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird . . ."

Ike's eyes flick toward the source of the soft singing, searching the darkness until he sees it. Crammed into the last open corner of the room, he can just make out a rocking chair that wasn't there before, steadily going back and forth, back and forth. Pale skin shining in the unlit room, Ike's not entirely sure if the figure in the chair is mortal or spirit, but the face is definitely that of Mad Molly. Not blinking, not moving except with the motion of the chair, she simply stares into the gloom, muttering her fragmented lullaby.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word . . . Hush little baby, don't say a word. . ."

In one horrible instant, Ike realizes what's happened. For the last fifteen years or so, Molly has bargained with, pleaded with, and ignored reality, and in return, reality has finally shut her out. She's been swallowed up in the past, and Ike's being swept along on the tide.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird . . ."

Longing to clap hands over his ears and shut out the grating sound, Ike once again struggles to sit up, his muscles protesting. Abruptly, the motion of the chair ceases.

"Isaac, you must be a good boy and lay back down." She moves toward him, and Ike pushes himself backwards in fear. He can't help it! It's like he's trapped in one of Cody's ghost stories, only this time it's real, terrifyingly real. Then the leather strap around his ankle pulls taunt, his back hits the wall, and he can retreat no further.

"It's late and little boys should be asleep," Molly continues, kneeling beside him and trying to tuck the blanket back in, but Ike recoils at her touch, a burning anger starting to mix with his fright. This is his mother! His own mother has him tethered up like a dog!

"Say goodnight to Mama and lay back down," she pleads.

Backed into the corner, the full horror of his situation washes over him. Molly is trapped as well, trapped in her own memories, and without a voice or his hands, Ike has no way to communicate, no way to try and shatter that deadly prison of the past. To her, he's still her two-year-old son.

"Isaac, you must lay down now."

Not knowing what else to do, Ike obeys. With surprisingly gentle hands, Molly covers him up, kisses his cheek, and whispers, "Goodnight, baby. Sleep well."

But Ike doesn't sleep at all. He lies awake hoping, praying, and silently begging the Heavens to somehow let Buck find him, somehow let Buck save him from this living nightmare.

And the rocking chair creaks steadily back and forth, back and forth, "Hush, little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mocking bird . . . Hush, little baby . . ."

00000

Like tantalizing dancers, the flames of the fire stretch and twist in the night, reaching for the stars that glitter coldly in the inky sky. Hunched over its meager warmth, a ratty old blanket drawn across his shoulders against the bitter night air, Buck stares unblinking at the fleeting tongues of orange flame. His eyes may be boring into the very heart of the burning sticks, but his thoughts are far away from the frozen camp site and the tiny fire, scattered like the four winds.

With a weary sigh, Buck drops his head in defeat onto the knees pulled up to his chest for warmth. After leaving the saloon and Sophie, he headed straight out to search for Ike, stopping only long enough to grab his gear and horse. All afternoon he scoured the snowy landscape, desperate for any sign, any clue. Refusing to give up, he continued long into the night, but the storm had hidden all tracks under a blanket of snow and the wind had wiped the surface clean, smooth as glass shining in the moon-light. Finally, almost frozen to his saddle, Buck made a crude camp to wait out the night in.

Head still buried in his arms, Buck can't help wondering if he will ever see his friend again. Something dreadful must have happened to him! That's the only explanation Buck can think of for Ike's failure to return. What if he's hurt? Or dead? Shuddering, Buck strongly suspects the first might be true, desperately hopes the second isn't, but at the same time, another worry that's been growing all day fights its way back to the surface of his mind. Molly thinks Ike is her son. After hours of riding with only his own thoughts for company, Buck's unable to dismiss the idea so quickly now. What if it's true? What if Ike _is_ her long, lost son? What would news like that do to his friend? What if it's true, and Ike, unable to face it, did something drastic?! Ike watched his family die and never spoke again, what would a revelation like this do to him?

Buck can imagine how Ike might be feeling, though, as he thinks of the sudden parent he just gained. The thoughts swirling painfully around inside his head match the churning emotions in his heart, and he realizes he doesn't know how he feels! Is he angry, hurt, relieved, sad? Or a little of all of them?

Anger, mostly, he decides. Anger at the man who gave him life and then so indifferently waltzed away, not caring that he left anguish and ruin in his wake. Anger that he was allowed to move on and ruin so many other peoples' lives as well. And sadness too, he realizes; sadness that all the stories of his father had to turn out to be true. Somewhere deep inside, even while knowing it was impossible, he must have cradled a spark of hope that they were wrong, all those who told him what his father was. Now that hope has been snuffed out, leaving him with only the cold, hard truth to face. A truth that also tugs along a gnawing worry: what exactly did he inherit from this father? Who's to say there's not a streak of that careless cruelty waiting to surface in his own character? What if he can't stop it?

His thoughts spinning more madly than ever, Buck gives up trying to make sense of it. His life has been altered this day, in ways he's not sure he completely understands yet, leaving him grasping for something steady to hold on to. In desperation, he anchors his mind too one thought and one thought only, finding Ike.

Slowly, Buck raises his eyes to the stars up above, wishing with all his heart he could be sure Ike was looking at the same stars. Until morning comes and he can start his search afresh, the only thing he can do is pray, and so pray he does, fervently begging the gods to watch over his friend, because if the turbulent thoughts that have plagued him all afternoon are right, that person is not only his best friend, but his brother as well.

00000

"Come, Isaac, have a drink of this nice, cool water."

Ike clamps his jaw shut tightly and turns his head away, refusing the cup Molly holds in front of him. Every part of his body aches from the cold, cramped night and he leans angrily against the cabin wall. Daylight creeps through the cracks in between the logs, reminding him that it's now the second day he's been shut up with this woman. His hands have long since gone numb from being tied behind him and his stomach rumbles with hunger, but it's his mind he's worried about. He might be acting angry and tired, but deep down he's really scared to death. What if no one ever finds him? He certainly didn't leave any clues, and no one knows about his conversation with Molly! For hours he's listened to Molly's broken thoughts, and he's afraid if he doesn't get out of here soon, she's not the only one who's going to be insane!

"Please have some water," she begs, but Ike ignores her. Her green eyes fill with tears, and she glances down at the leather strap binding Ike's leg to the bedframe, then back to his arms drawn painfully behind him. For just a moment, she seems to pull herself out of her cage of memories and into the present.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, her hand touching the binding on his ankle gently, "but you would have left. You would have left me, just like everyone else."

Slowly, she rises to her feet, her eyes beginning to glaze over again, and he notices her hair has escaped from its pins and is cascading down her shoulders in messy, dark brown curls. She starts to pace the small room, her arms wrapping and unwrapping around herself, still clutching the chipped cup in her hand, her words stretched and thin, growing louder as she speaks.

"Just like it's always been, everyone leaves . . . Mama left, Papa left, Charlie left, you left . . . You would have left me all alone again . . . All alone . . . always alone . . ." Without warning, she hurls the china cup at the wall with a strangled cry, then sinks into the rocking chair, covering her face in her hands.

As the cup shatters into a million pieces, Ike jerks back in surprise. More terrified of this new mood than the quiet insanity of before, he watches in shock, unable to get away. Then, quite suddenly, a different emotion starts to creep through his veins as he sees Molly's shoulders rise and fall with her sobs. The anger and rage flow out of him and are replaced with a flood of pity and incredible understanding. This is not just some mad, ranting woman! This is a woman who is carrying an enormous hurt inside, and if there's something Ike can empathize with, it's carrying around pain from the past. And most important of all, whether he likes it or not, this is his mother.

Suddenly, Ike finds himself wishing he could go to her and gather her in his arms - tell her it's all right - tell her he understands how she feels. But just as his bindings keep him from escaping, they stop him from offering comfort as well. Letting his head sink back against the wall, he closes his eyes, unable to bear what he's being forced to watch.

Attempting to block out the sound of Molly's weeping, Ike finds himself being pulled into his own thoughts, trying to sort out the jumbled mess in his head. Images of his parents and sister surface; memories of good times, all wrapped up in the warm glow of their incredible love. How can he give them up, his family that's not really his? Why should he be forced to forfeit those happy moments and memories, especially when he has precious few of them as it is? Adding to the jumble come the faces of Teaspoon, Emma, Jimmy, Cody, and all the others parading across his mind, finished by the laughing face of his best friend, Buck. Where do they fit in all of this? Will he ever see them again?

"Charlie will be here soon . . . Your Papa's comin' home, Isaac."

Molly's distant voice pulls Ike back to find she's flown away to that place inside her mind again. Like a nervous bird, she flits around the room, moving things one way or the other as if she's straightening up.

"He's comin' home soon . . . He'll be hungry. I'd better go start super for your papa, baby," she tells Ike, absentmindedly pushing her hair back out of her eyes. Eyes fixed firmly on what isn't real, she slips into the kitchen. Unable to see her anymore, Ike relies on his ears to tell him what's going on. Judging from the sound of it, Molly's digging up some ancient ruins of cookware and preparing to fix a meal, but of what he doesn't have any idea. Aching for this lost woman, Ike listens to her tormented words as they float back to him.

"He's comin' back this time, I just know it . . . he always promised he would. . . said he loved me and the baby, yes he did . . ." Clatter, bang, crash. "I don't believe what all the others said about him . . . no, no, no, no . . . it ain't true! . . . ain't no Indian could kill my Charlie." Her voice is now nearing hysterical and it rises to a shout above the racket of the rusty pans and pots. "Do ya hear me? Ain't no Indian named Red Bear killed my Charlie! An' my Charlie ain't never raped no Chief's wife neither! You hear me, all you waggin' tongues? My Charlie ain't dead! He's comin' back for me!"

Her cries cease and dead silence falls upon the cabin. In the back room, Ike sits stunned, his eyes wide in disbelief at what he just heard. _Red Bear_? His real father was killed by an Indian named Red Bear? His real father raped a Chief's wife? But, but, but . . . that could mean . . .!

Before he can properly fit the parts together, he's drawn back to the sounds coming from the kitchen.

"Now, Molly . . . all this shouting's gonna wake the baby up!" she chides herself, slipping seamlessly back to her quiet insanity. "The baby's sleepin' in the back room an' Charlie's comin' soon an' he's gonna want a hot meal." Ike hears the match as it strikes the rough metal of the stove, followed by the crackle of new flames biting their way through wood. A few moments later, Molly reappears through the doorway.

"Don' you worry," she smiles, sitting in her rocking chair, "won't be long now, then we'll have a nice, warm dinner together." Closing her eyes, she leans back in the chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap like she's paying a social call.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird . . ."

Ike watches as she dissolves back into her mindless singing and rocking, his ears still ringing from her shouts and his mind stumbling over their meaning. Round and round his thoughts chase each other, as if they're afraid to settle on what might be. What-if's, impossible's, and can't-be's race in circles, tugging at his senses, all mixed with the incessant sound of singing, the bone-chilling cold of the cabin, his own aching muscles, and the acrid smell of . . .smoke!

00000

Tired and frozen to the core, Buck wearily urges his horse up the snow encrusted slope. _Maybe over this next hill. Maybe this is the last one._ For the last four hours, these words are the only way he's been able to force himself to continue, and every time they've been proved wrong, his dwindling hope has sunk lower and lower, until now he's certain what's left of it is sitting in his boots. Beneath him, the horse slowly sets one hoof in front of the last, just as exhausted as its rider.

As they finally crest the small rise, Buck looks down at the valley in disappointment, noting it looks just like every other valley he's glanced at in the last two days. He's about to turn away when something catches his eye. Off to one side, near a small stand of woods, a large column of black smoke is winding up into the sky. Leaning closer, Buck realizes with a start the source of the grey billows; an old log-cabin is going up in flames.

Stunned by the sudden lurch he feels in his gut, it takes several seconds for Buck to react. Then, as if propelled by the devil himself, he leans forward and presses his horse to run like the wind.

00000

A panic like he's never before known in his life grips Ike in its cruel talons, covering his body in cold sweat. Using every ounce of strength he has, he jerks and pulls against his bindings, but it's no use. Helplessly, he watches as the thick, black smoke billows and curls into the small room even as the temperature begins to climb, accompanied by the terrifying sounds of fire eating through wood.

Suddenly, Molly stirs in her chair, coughing from the smoke. "Oh dear, I forgot the dinner . . ." she mutters, shaking her head as if to clear it. Unable to even shout a warning, Ike watches her stumble toward the doorway and disappear. She doesn't come back.

In frustration and complete terror, Ike recklessly strains against his bonds until tears are running down his cheeks from the smoke. The room is steadily growing warmer and any moment he expects to see the bright orange flames biting through the wall next to him. Anger, fueled by horrible fear, rushes through him. This isn't how it's supposed to end, trapped like an animal to burn to death! Unable to help himself or anyone else! Unable to even call for help! He doesn't want to die! Not now - and not like this!

In a blind rage, Ike continues to twist and jerk against the deadly bindings, knowing it's hopeless but unwilling to give up without a fight. Finally, the poisonous billows of smoke are too much and he's forced to lie on the faded quilt, great dry coughs wracking his body.

00000

The whole building is engulfed in flames and the front part looks ready to collapse at any moment as Buck rides into the yard. Leaping from his horse before it's even come to a stop, he races for the door. As much as he wants to find Ike, looking at the inferno before him, Buck fervently hopes no one is in there, least of all his best friend!

Wrenching open the solid door, Buck is immediately swallowed in a cloud of black smoke so thick it's like mud. Eyes already stinging, he pulls the corner of his coat up over his mouth and nose and plunges in. Instantly, he feels the heat singeing his face even as tongues of fire leap into sight all around him. Stumbling, blinded by the smoke and heat, he rushes into the room.

"Ike! Ike, are you in here? Is anyone in here?" he screams, groping his way forward. "Ike!"

Trying to protect his face from the flames, Buck spies two more doorways in the back, fingers of fire starting to curl around them. He fumbles quickly toward them but before he gets halfway, his feet catch on something and he trips over it. With a start, he realizes the crumpled heap is a person, but the smoke is too thick to tell who it is. The person is breathing, but just barely. Choking, he seizes a pair of limp arms and drags the body toward the door, struggling against the dead weight. Just when he's sure he's about to melt or smother, he reaches the opening and bursts through it.

Letting his burden slump to the ground, Buck falls to his knees, coughing uncontrollably as he tries to draw life-giving breaths of the fresh, cold air into his lungs. It's several seconds before he can even glance down at the person next to him, but what he sees sends chills up his spine. Lying in a heap on the glistening snow, dirt and smoke covering her from head to toes, is Mad Molly! But that means . . .!

"IKE!"

The strangled cry wrenches from his throat as Buck stumbles to his feet and rushes once more into the burning building.

00000

Gasping and choking, Ike desperately tries to push himself away from the walls of fire all around him, but the blazing fingers follow his every move, greedily reaching for his clothes and skin. Unable to withdraw any farther, he leans against the metal bedframe and closes his eyes, weakly praying for it to at least be over quickly. Isn't this the part where an angel is supposed to appear, calling his name and taking him home, he thinks wryly?

"Ike!"

Ike's eyes fly open with a start at the sound of his own name. _I was just kidding!_ he wants to shout in alarm as he gazes feverishly through the blaze all around him, afraid of what he'll see.

"IKE!"

Hearing the shout again, Ike realizes who the voice belongs to: Buck! Wishing with all his heart he had a voice to call to his friend with, Ike can't do anything but sit hacking and cringing from the fire and smoke. Soon, he feels Buck's hand on his shoulder, and though he can't see him through the blinding smoke, he knows his friend is kneeling beside him.

"Ike! Are you alright? Come on, we've got to get out of here now!" Buck shouts through coughs of his own.

Just then, the cabin timbers give a mighty groan, and Ike knows they've run out of time. Any second now the logs are going to come crashing down around them, burying them alive in a fiery grave. Even as he contemplates the horror of it, he feels Buck's hand land on his trapped ankle, hears the snap of the leather as Buck's knife cuts through it, and then strong hands are hauling him to his feet.

"Come on, let's go!"

It takes a moment for the truth to settle in his smoke clogged brain, but then he understands. He's free! Gasping for breath, Ike leaning heavily on Buck because of cramped legs that refuse to work properly, the two friends fight to get to the door and safety. Finally, plowing through a five foot wall of solid flames, they stumble out the open door and fall onto the snow beside Molly's limp form, panting and gasping for air, their skin burned and raw.

Trying to clear his lungs of the deadly smoke, Ike rolls over on his back, headless of his hands still bound behind him as he forces himself to take one tortured breath after another. With a giant crack and a roar, the towering flames finally breach the cabin's walls and the whole structure dissolves into a mound of fire. Shuddering, he doesn't even want to think about how close he came to having that mound as a funeral pyre. He quickly looks away.

Savoring the icy air and the fact that they're still alive to breath it, both boys simply lie panting in the snow for several minutes. After a while, Buck struggles to his knees and crawls over to Ike.

"Are you okay?" he gasps, and Ike nods slowly. Then he inclines his head in Molly's direction, his eyes questioning.

"She's alive, just passed out from all the smoke. Here, let's get those off of ya."

Still trembling both from fear and exhaustion, Ike sits up with Buck's help. A few more swishes of Buck's knife and the strips of cloth fall away from Ike's hands. Slowly, he brings them around front, wincing as his stiff muscles cry out in pain, and carefully wriggles his fingers and wrists. They're sore and cramped and covered in small burns, but they still work.

_Thanks_, he motions jerkily to Buck, and then very slowly, _I thought I was gonna die . . ._

"I was afraid I was too late . . ." Buck answers quietly.

For a moment, they just stare at each other, each realizing how close they came to losing the other, and neither one is exactly sure what to say. If they could only see in each other's heads, they'd know they are both thinking the same incredulous thoughts, and both wondering how to put their new relationship into words. Eventually, Ike's hands move again.

_How did you find me?_ he asks, shoving his stunning news aside until he can be sure it's the right time to bring it up.

"I've been looking for ya for two days, ever since I woke up and you weren't in the hotel. Finding the cabin in time?" Buck shudders slightly, "That was just pure luck. What happened Ike?" he rushes on, "Who tied you up? What's been going on!"

A weary looks settles in Ike's eyes and he looks down at the snow. He waits so long to answer, Buck starts to worry, but then Ike signs a few words.

_She did. Molly._

Not at all what he was expecting, Buck glances unbelieving at the woman starting to stir next to them, his mind still racing to understand what Ike's just told him. "Why?" he finally demands of Ike, anger stirring in his soul, anger toward Molly for doing this to Ike.

_It's a long story, Buck. I'll tell you it all later,_ Ike replies.

"I don't care what the story is, or the reason, she almost got you killed! She held you prisoner for two days! She's dangerous! We should dump her right back at the Sheriff's office!" Buck says angrily, getting to his feet, his emotions running away from him, pulled by the adrenaline still coursing through him. Ike unsteadily rises too, quickly placing a hand on Buck's arm and forcing him to meet his eyes. Firmly, he shakes his head 'no', and brings up his hands to sign, when a soft wailing makes both boys turn around.

Looking worn, tired, and old, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them as she rocks back and forth, Molly sits staring at the burning ruins, tears carving out deep channels through the dirt and soot on her face. Sobs wrack her whole frame as she half cries, half moans, "No . . . . . . no . . . it's gone . . . it's all gone! Charlie, my baby, my home . . . gone, all gone, all gone . . ."

A great surge of compassion and grief for this lost woman swells up inside of Ike, and he moves softly to her side. Very gently, so as not to startle her, he crouches beside Molly and awkwardly gathers her into his arms. Suddenly, tears are running down his own face as he sees her pain. For one instant, Molly stops crying, as if she's aware of Ike's presence and she's trying to climb out of the past. Holding his breath, he waits for her to relax in his embrace, but then her eyes glaze over once more and her rocking returns.

"Hush little baby, don't say a word . . ."

In an instant, Ike understands. Everything. Everything his heart has been trying to tell him for the last two days. This woman is his mother and she needs him - needs him like no one has ever needed him before! His mother, father, and sister - they are and always will be his family, the faces he sees in his dreams, the voices he remembers in quite moments, and the love he draws strength from. No one's asking him to give them up or turn his back on that heritage. He finally realizes it's not a matter of giving anything up, but of learning to love more. He's simply been blessed with not one family, but three who love him. His mother, father, and sister - Emma, Teaspoon, and the riders - and now Molly and . . ."

"Ike."

Ike glances up when Buck says his name.

"Ike, she really is mad . . ."

Listening to Molly's broken lullaby, Ike sadly shakes his head in agreement. _Yes, but she's also my mother._

Buck watches Ike sign the impossible and he realizes with a jolt that all his suspicions have just been confirmed.

"Are you sure?" he whispers. "How do you know?"

Standing up, Ike waves that aside impatiently, _I'll tell you later, it's not important right now._ For a moment he studies Buck, his best friend, remembering all they've shared. Then, taking a deep breath, he plunges on.

_Buck, there's something I need to tell you. It's about your father . . ._ he signs hesitantly.

Relieved that he doesn't have to try and explain it all, Buck reaches out and stops Ike's hands. "I know, Ike. I already know. Charlie was my father. That makes us . . ."

_Brothers,_ Ike finishes for him.

For several seconds, they both just stare at each other, as if meeting for the first time, not sure what to do. Then, a huge grin splits Ike's face and spreads like fire to Buck's. Laughing and crying at the same time, they collapse into a monstrous bear-hug, pounding each other on the back. Finally, they break apart, still smiling.

"So, you aren't worried this is gonna change things for us?" Buck asks, voicing one of the things he's been stewing over all night long.

_Why should it? You've always been my brother, Buck. Now it's just by blood as well as spirit._

"And our father? What about him?"

Sighing, Ike answers, _What about him? He's dead. Let's leave it at that and move on._

Buck opens his mouth to argue that it's not that simple, but closes it again. To him, the issue of their father is very important, and extremely life-altering. He's just had a huge gap in his childhood filled carelessly in, by a man who's not really worthy of knowing about in the first place. It's not a subject he feels ready to shove into the past, yet. He still needs answers. The thought crosses his mind that it might be time for another visit with Red Bear. In the meantime, Ike and he have all the time in the world to discuss their father; he can wait for now.

A slight breeze starts to drift around the smoldering cabin, kicking up the snow at their feet and playing with the smoke like a child drawing pictures. Feeling it blow across his face, Ike shivers, realizing the heat of the fire has left him and the chill of the afternoon is setting in. Glancing around, Ike shakes his head in disbelief. So much has changed here in this very spot, so much of his world has been restructured. Not since that fateful day ten years ago has his life been altered so drastically in a few short moments. The difference is that this time he's not afraid to face the future, whatever it will bring. Looking one last time at the ruined cabin, he knows he was meant to come here - to this place from his past - at this time in his life. But it has served its purpose, now it's time to move on.

Slipping his worn coat from his back, grimacing slightly as his stiff shoulders protest the movement, Ike walks back to where Molly still sits, intoning her lullaby and shaking violently. Lovingly, he wraps the coat around her own shoulders, drawing it close around her. Then he gently pulls her to her feet and leads her to Buck's horse. Instantly, Buck is at his side, and together, they help Molly up into the saddle. For the first time, Molly is silent, and Ike swears her eyes are seeing things a little closer to the present as Buck takes his ratty blanket and tucks it around her quivering legs.

"Where should we take her?" Buck asks when she's settled.

Ike looks deep into the eyes of his oldest friend and newest brother before answering, scanning for Buck's true feelings, worried he'll see skepticism. Instead, he finds only understanding and support. His mind made up, he turns back to the path ahead even as his hands form the answer.

_Home, Buck. I'm taking her home._

Smiling, Buck claps his hand on Ike's shoulder, "All right then, my brother, let's go home."

**The End**


End file.
